


Silent World

by Tarlan



Series: Silent World [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Episode Related, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-19
Updated: 2002-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghosts of the Confederacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent World

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a single story challenge for the MBECO list to rewrite an episode of Mag7, staying in CANON, but depicting a Chris/Vin relationship.
> 
> The _Silent World_ series took off from there, but remains in CANON throughout.
> 
> Many, many thanks to KAP, and to Shirley, for their wonderful support with this story. The revision would not have been half as good without you.

_This silent world, we're living in.  
Nobody knows, nobody knows 'bout me and you;  
In silent words, we talk together,  
Nobody hears, nobody hears a word we say.  
 **This Silent World**_ by **Chris de Burgh**

****

He had ridden into this small frontier town penniless, illiterate, and alone. The first problem was easy to solve for a man who had no qualms about taking on any job that would put a few dollars in his pocket, no matter how menial. He had checked around, asked in a few places if they needed a handyman; was even prepared to shovel horse manure at the livery if need be but the livery keeper already had a boy helping him.

As it turned out, he was a mite luckier. Watson, the owner of the hardware store, needed an assistant to keep the floor swept and the shelves stocked, except Virgil Watson had not known it at the time. It was Mrs. Potter who had taken pity on Vin after the old man had met his initial request for work with a negative. As Vin stepped back outside the store, his sharp hearing had caught her kind voice berating Watson for taking on too much at his age and saying he needed some help. Vin could not help but grin at her description of him as some poor vagabond child needing a good meal and some Christian charity, especially as those words broke through Watson's gruff exterior.

Watson had hurried out moments later and Vin had been waiting for him, leaning against the post nonchalantly with the brim of his hat pulled low. Gruffly, the old man offered the work and Vin accepted gratefully, mumbling his thanks.

It was not a rewarding job but it paid five dollars a week, enough to put his horse up at the livery and still leave a little in his pocket for a drink or two each night. Mrs. Potter had insisted on feeding him twice a day and Watson had offered him the floor of the storeroom to sleep on, thereby saving him even more money.

For a hunted man, trying to escape the unjustified bounty on his head, he could not have hoped for better than this. It was a chance to stop and take stock of his situation; a time to consider all the alternatives and see if there was anything he could do to prove his innocence--beyond finding Eli Joe.

Unfortunately, the trail leading to the man who had framed him for the murder of Jess Kincaid had gone cold weeks ago, and Vin had no idea where to pick it up again. Without Eli Joe's confession, Vin knew he had little chance of convincing any judge to lift the bounty on his head.

For a moment he cursed his lack of reading ability, knowing his self-appointed task of hunting down Eli Joe would be far easier if he could read a newspaper. He knew many of the small town papers carried stories from other territories. They fed these stories over the telegraph wires or carried them from town to town by courier, and this small town was no exception. Often, even if the stories mentioned no names, there were enough clues to figure out if Eli Joe, or any of his gang, was involved in any particular incident. However, Vin could not read, and he was unlikely to find anyone willing to help him remedy that fact. He knew he would have to rely on overhearing conversations in the saloon, or in Watson's store, hoping one might clue him into where the snake had gone to ground.

Still, Vin did not plan to stay in the town long no matter whether he learned anything of Eli Joe or not. Already, he had been in the town six days, and would stay maybe just a few weeks more--or until the first bounty hunter tracked him down. After that, he knew he would have little choice but to move on whether he was ready or not...or face the hangman's noose.

His hand crept to his throat, almost feeling the rough fibers of a coarse rope around his neck. He had seen plenty of men hanged in the past, some of whom had been his prisoner only days before. Until the day Eli Joe framed him for murder, he had never questioned any man's guilt or innocence; he had left that for the judges to decide. To Vin it had been just another job, and just another payday.

Vin tied on the clean apron and picked up the broom, knowing he might very well be just another job or payday to the next bounty hunter to track him down. He wiped at his brow with his bandanna as several droplets of sweat trickled down his temple, feeling the uncomfortable heat as the sun reached its zenith above the small town. Vin returned to his work, sending a small dust cloud into the air as he swept the dirt out of the store and across the boardwalk. He paused to gaze out across the plain along the length of the side street opposite. Ahead he could see an expanse of dust lying low on the horizon, and he recalled the days when this would indicate the presence of a large herd of buffalo. Instead, he knew it was most likely cattle being driven to one of the market towns to be sold on as beef.

With luck, Vin thought, the cowboys driving that herd would press on westward, leaving this town alone; for the kind of business they brought into the town usually profited no one.

With a shake of his head, he turned his eyes away from the distant dust cloud and focused on the dirt beneath his feet instead; the trail herd quickly forgotten.

****

The early evening sun hung low in the sky, casting an orange glow across the scrubby land. Through the dark shadows it cast, the lone rider could pick out the planking on the wood-constructed buildings that lay ahead. He pushed on into the town, keeping to the center of the street where he had a good view of all the doorways and windows. Despite his relaxed posture, he was alert to danger, with his hand loose around the reins in case he had to drop them fast and go for his gun.

A number of people were bustling about but they took no notice of the black-clad stranger, too caught up with their own lives and the need to get off the streets before night fell. A body came hurtling out of the door of the saloon, assisted by the bartender, and the man fell onto the dusty street just beyond the boardwalk. Chris Larabee turned away. He was not interested in the protesting drunk who had hauled himself onto his unsteady feet before lurching away, slapping his dusty hat against his thigh, and spitting curses back towards the saloon.

Chris came to a halt outside a building proclaiming to have rooms for rent, and stepped down from his horse, tying the gelding securely to the rail out front. He pulled the saddlebag off the back of his horse and slung it over his shoulder, his eyes taking one last look in each direction. His spurs jangled as he stepped up onto the boardwalk, slowly making his way into the dimly lit interior. There was a small bell on the counter; he hit it hard with the palm of his hand and then leaned onto the counter top to await the patron.

A comely woman in a stained apron came out from a back room, rubbing her hands together to shake off the flour that coated them. He felt his stomach rumble quietly as the aroma of fresh corn bread and meat stew wafted through the door behind her, reminding him that he had not eaten for many hours. She appraised him uneasily, taking in his dusty appearance and menacing air.

"Says you have a room for rent," he asked softly.

"How long do you need it?"

"Few days. Maybe a week."

They bartered for a moment and upon agreeing on a price, Chris placed a few dollars onto the counter. The woman pocketed the money and leaned under the counter to retrieve a key, her demeanor changing once she realized he had paid for that week's rent up front. He followed her up the stairs and along the darkened corridor, waiting patiently while she unlocked the door and pushed it open. Following her inside, he nodded his approval at the clean room before taking the key from her outstretched hand.

"That stew'll be just about cooked by now. Be serving it downstairs real soon... if you're hungry."

He nodded, his stomach almost rumbling loudly at just the memory of that fine aroma drifting from the kitchen. He just hoped it tasted as good as it smelled. Chris waited until he had heard her steps receding down the hallway before he dropped the saddlebag onto the bed. He moved over to the window, drawing back the curtain so he could look down the length of the main street.

The sun had almost set, with dark shadows moving through the town like ink-stained fingers reaching out to grasp at the last shards of light. The glow from oil lamps had started to reach into the street from the various establishments, pushing back those claw-like fingers of darkness. The tinkle of a piano drifted across from the saloon; a siren call that beckoned to him and he licked his lips, already tasting the fiery whiskey that would push away some of the darkness in his soul.

He left the boarding house and saw to his horse's needs, riding along to the livery and handing over a dollar to the livery keeper to pay for fresh hay and a decent rubdown while he remained in the town. Chris wandered back along the main street, taking note of the many faces he could see through the windows but he recognized none. That was good. He did not want to meet anyone he knew. He wanted to retain his anonymity and find a dark corner to sit in while he considered his options.

Since the loss of his family, he had spent too much time moving from town to town. He was tired; tired of the dusty trails, tired of the constant stream of new faces and old trouble, tired of the impersonal rooms that mocked his memories of a time when he had a place he could call home. For three years, he had searched for the men who had destroyed his life, leaving everything he had ever loved in a burnt-out shell of a ranch. His thirst for revenge was as strong as ever, but the sharpness of the terrible black grief had started to dull around the edges, leaving him feeling hollow inside. He had long resisted the temptation to fill that emptiness with whiskey, aware that while the alcohol dulled his mind and softened the harsh memories, it gave only temporary solace. Moreover, he paid dearly for the overindulgence, both physically and mentally.

Chris barely faltered as he walked passed the saloon's doors, despite the temptation to slake his thirst rather than his hunger. Instead, he returned to the boarding house and filled himself up with beef stew and fresh corn bread. Chris felt grateful he had not given into the urge to head straight for the saloon for it *had* tasted as good as it smelled, with rich gravy and beef that melted in his mouth. With a full stomach and a slightly happier disposition, he made his way from the boarding house, stepping across the street to where the piano still played lively.

He pushed aside the batwing doors and walked up to the bar, using the mirrors and his peripheral vision to scan the faces but, again, there was no one even remotely familiar. Taking a bottle of Red-Eye and a shot glass, he made his way across the still relatively empty saloon to a table set back against the wall in a darkened corner. With his back to the wall and a good view of the interior, he sank back into the shadows where the light of the oil lamps could not reach him, and he nursed his drink.

The saloon slowly filled as the evening drew on. Working girls began to cruise the clientèle, searching for lonely men willing to spend their hard-earned money on a few minutes of sweaty sex. A withering look convinced the girls to stay away from him, and he ignored the regret in their eyes as they moved on to another target.

Chris's eyes widened when a familiar, tall figure entered the saloon. Before he was even aware of his actions, he had risen partway out of his seat, intending to greet his old friend. Instead, he hesitated, sinking back deeper into the shadows and watched while memories of happier times crowded through his head.

Buck Wilmington grabbed a girl and a bottle of whiskey in that order, and headed up the stairs. His large hands slapped the woman's ample rump, drawing a small grin from Chris as he heard the woman's squeal of delight. Unlike most of the men hanging around the bar, Buck knew how to show a lady a good time so Chris was certain he would see no more of him that night.

Eventually, the hour grew late. The saloon began to empty, except for a few drunken stalwarts and those occupied in a game of poker with a smartly dressed gambler. If he had been in a friendlier mood then he would have been tempted to sit in on that game. However, Chris had a feeling he would have ended up shooting that gambler, if only to stop the man from talking so damn much.

Chris corked the still half-full bottle and pushed himself up from the table. He slipped the bottle inside the deep inner pocket lining his duster, leaving his hands free in case of trouble, and headed back to the boarding house.

He had spent a long, hard day in the saddle and it was time to ease his tired body into the bed in the hope that it would prove to be a mite more comfortable than the dusty ground.

****

The thunder of hooves and the rattle of a buckboard bouncing across the ruts in the bone-dry street brought Vin out of a good sleep. He rubbed his eyes, recognizing the feel of a pre-dawn morning by the almost imperceptible lessening of the darkness. His inner sense told him the sun would rise within the next few minutes so he pulled on his jacket and went out to investigate the noise, staying in the dark shadows of the alley beside the hardware store.

The men milling about the main street near the livery looked like a large gang waiting on their leader. They seemed concerned and pensive, kicking the dusty ground with their boots and muttering softly to each other. Vin knew they were more likely part of that cattle drive he had spotted late yesterday, the one that had been slowly making its way across from Texas. He looked up and noted that the light was on where the healer lived, and Vin realized these men must have ridden in fast with someone injured. He nodded carefully, knowing it would be smart to keep a low profile in case any of those Texans had seen or heard of him. He did not want to chance any of them deciding that bounty hunting paid far better than cattle driving.

Vin went back inside, took off his jacket, and tied on the apron, grabbing the broom from the corner of the storeroom. There was no point going back to bed now for he was wide-awake. Instead, he decided the store could use another good sweep, and so he set to work.

****

Chris moaned, turning over in the surprisingly comfortable bed as the sound of horses thundering through the street and men yelling pulled him from the best sleep he had known in ages. He crawled out of the bed, rubbing at the ache in his back from the hard day's traveling, and went to the window, teasing back the curtain and squinting into the pre-dawn darkness. The men had moved on to the far end of town, near the livery, and so Chris sighed and crawled back into the still-warm bed. He pulled the covers up, checked his gun was still within reach and then fell back to sleep, eager to recapture the dream he had left behind. It had been a long time since he had experienced good dreams. The presence of someone whose face had remained hidden had filled this dream, but Chris had a feeling he would come to know this face better than he knew his own.

Many hours later, the sound of more gunshots brought him awake again. Realizing he had slept away most of the morning, Chris glanced out of the window to see a fair number of men--all liquored up--shooting the clouds and anything else that happened to be in the path of the bullets they let loose.

Remnants of that dream still held him and, as he considered it, he felt the hairs rising at the back of his neck. He sensed a strangeness in the air, as if he was predestined to be here at this time. Originally, his first impulse had been to head for Tombstone but he had felt the pull of this town from the moment he left Eagle Bend, and that feeling was far stronger today. Silently, Chris wondered if the easing of the heavy burden of guilt and grief that he had carried for so long had caused this feeling; or perhaps it was just the right time to stop his nomadic existence. Whatever the cause, the seeing Buck again had given him a feeling that this was the right time and place to take stock of his life.

More gunshots filled the air. Dismayed that he would gain no more sleep, Chris splashed some cold water over his face then dressed, slowly shrouding himself in the dark clothes that seemed to represent his state of mind since Sarah's death. He made up his mind to seek out Buck, and the most obvious place to start was at the saloon where he had seen him last.

Ignoring the gunfire, Chris walked slowly to the saloon and up to the bar.

"Seen Buck Wilmington this morning?" he asked. It never occurred to him that the bartender might not knowing whom he meant for Buck had always had a way of attracting people to him, mostly the women. Buck made the acquaintance of most everyone he met with his playful air and ready smile, somehow managing to draw a response from others.

"Nope. He's still upstairs."

Another bullet thudded off the bar top and the man ducked lower, moving away quickly.

"Take a shot of whiskey."

"Help yourself."

A bullet took the top clean off the bottle that was standing close to his elbow, but Chris decided to treat that as a good omen and slopped some of the Red-Eye into the glass. He downed half of it, lips curling back from his teeth at the burn that trailed all the way down his throat to his empty stomach. More bullets thudded into the saloon, ricocheting off tables and walls and arousing Chris's curiosity. He stepped over the man lying flat out on the floor near the window, uncaring if the man was alive or dead, and unconcerned with his own safety. He had long since stopped caring about death, having figured that if one of those loose bullets should hit him then it would be doing him and the rest of the world a favor.

Chris stood on the threshold of the saloon for far longer than was safe, with his duster flapping in the breeze that flowed along the length of the main street. He stared out at the drunken cowboys riding up and down as they emptied their guns in any direction. Eventually, his eye caught sight of an old-timer seated close by. The man flinched occasionally, especially when a bullet landed too close for comfort but, otherwise, he made no move to protect himself.

"Town always this lively?"

****

Though he had only been in town a week, Vin knew Nathan Jackson was a good man. Jackson had come into the store several times and both Watson and Mrs. Potter were always kind to him. They knew the healer treated people with no expectation of payment, never turning away someone who was sick or hurting so, often, they added extra little items for no charge.

From the tension in the air, it seemed likely that the trail hands had called upon Jackson for his healing services earlier that morning, and he had failed to save his patient. Vin could understand grief, but he could not understand why these cowboys should take theirs out on the healer. Still, it really was not any of Vin's business, especially as he had enough trouble of his own to deal with, so he made no move as the cowboys dragged Jackson from his clinic and onto a buckboard.

As he stood on the boardwalk, broom in hand, Vin thought of the noose awaiting him in Tascosa and felt uneasy, perhaps even a little guilty for just standing by. Jackson no more deserved to hang than him, but Vin was just one man, and he knew he would most likely end up hanging alongside Jackson if he intervened.

While he pondered on this, he saw the Clarion's Editor walk to the center of the main street with a rifle in hand, hoping to force the drunken lynch mob to halt in its tracks. However, one swift kick from one of the riders sent Mrs. Travis flying backwards onto the dusty street. Although he'd had no cause to speak to the woman directly, he knew she was a good woman who deserved better treatment. Then, as she cried out to the townsfolk to help her put a stop to this lynching, Vin came to a decision that he hoped he would not regret; he pulled off the apron and went back into the store.

He had lost his own rifle more than a week before, and he could remember his annoyance as it skittered down the side of the mesa, the stock breaking away from the barrel as it smashed against the sharp rocks. It was his fault. If he had stopped earlier, to rest his tired body, then he would have heard the rattler that spooked his horse. Moreover, if he had not been so careless when he set out that day then he would have fastened the rifle more securely, so it could not slip from its holster as his horse reared in fear.

That incident had been the impetus he needed to bring him into this town seeking work when his first impulse had been to skirt it and head straight on into Mexico. However, he needed money to buy a replacement rifle. After all, what good was a sharpshooter without a rifle?

It was only when he entered the town and fell into the welcoming arms of Mrs. Potter that he realized he also needed a place to stop and put his head down in relative safety for a few weeks.

He needed one other thing, something he was loath to admit even to himself, except on rare occasions: he needed company. He had spent enough years alone to know he was capable of surviving without companionship, but there were times when the loneliness became harder to bear; times when he needed even the company of strangers. In his heart he had always hoped he would find far more than that. He had hoped he would find a friend to watch his back through good and bad times but, through all his years hunting buffalo and men, he had never found anyone he felt he could trust that implicitly.

As he stepped back outside with the rifle he had taken from the store, Virgil Watson told him that if he walked away now then he would no longer have a job. It was all a bluff, of course. Vin knew the old man had a soft spot for him and was hoping to dissuade him from his suicidal intent but Mrs. Travis's plea for help and Nathan Jackson's plight called to him. The very real fear of being strung up for something he had not done had made him more acutely aware of Jackson's plight, so he could no longer see any excuse for standing by while they hanged him. He checked the rifle was loaded then looked up, his eyes catching a stranger's across the breadth of the main street.

The black-clad stranger gave a slight tilt of his head, and Vin felt his pulse start to race. He nodded back and saw complete understanding in the man's expression. Strange warmth filled him, accompanying the kick of adrenaline--and something else indefinable--that flooded through his veins, igniting every nerve and sending power to every muscle. His senses seemed to heighten and he had to turn away from the lean figure of the approaching stranger as the man fell into step beside him. Part of him was scared that he had read this wrong, and that this man would read the desire in his face and back off from the fight rather than stand with him. Together, they walked along the center of the main street, heading away from the livery towards the distant cemetery.

The few seconds of appraisal had set his stomach flipping. He had seen all the colors of the rainbow in the mostly green eyes, and caught the light glinting off the short dark blond hair that feathered out beneath the flat-brim hat. Images of the firm lips and white teeth that chewed on the cheroot made his heart beat faster as he imagined what those lips and teeth could do to his body. He could smell the aroma of the cheroot, rich and warm, and the staleness of trail dust clinging to the folds in the dark clothing. Beneath it all was the musky scent of this man, the pure masculinity that teased at Vin's senses, sending new warmth flooding to his groin.

They strode together, side by side, with silent words echoing between them, as if every step was telling him the life story of this stranger, with every rustle of cloth showing him a possible future. They moved in perfect harmony, with long easy strides, passing through the gathering crowd by the cemetery until they were facing their enemy, and then they waited until the trail hands acknowledged them.

"Cut him loose."

The voice was naturally soft, the words rolling from those perfect lips like water flowing over fine gravel. Everyone fell silent, collectively holding their breath as they waited for events to unfold.

Vin knew how the cards would play. He knew the lynch mob was too liquored up to use the good sense they were born with, so the outcome was inevitable. However, the speed with which the stranger by his side reacted, and the accuracy of his shots brought new respect. The gunfire spooked the horses holding the buckboard in place and Vin heard gasps from the crowd as Jackson began to swing.

He aimed at the rope wrapped around the tree branch and cursed silently when he missed; the sight was off on the rifle he had taken from Watson's store. Vin ducked back as bullets thudded into the masonry of tombstones around him. He compensated for the error and tried again. This time, the sight of Jackson dropping like a stone to the hard ground rewarded him.

It was only after the remaining cowboys had fled did he finally exchange names with the stranger, amazing even himself by revealing his own name at a time when the less people who knew who he was, the better. Mrs. Travis spoiled the moment with her nosiness, as she demanded to know where they had come from and where they were going. As they jointly responded to her final question with a single word--"saloon"--Vin knew fate had brought him here for a reason. Only time would reveal exactly what that reason was, but he could not help hoping that Chris Larabee was part, or all of it.

****

Chris moved with purposeful steps towards the saloon, consciously aware of the younger man who followed him up to the bar. He had felt the loss of Vin's company for a moment as Vin tried to hand back the rifle to the old man outside but Vin caught up pretty quick, still clutching that same rifle. He leaned it up against the bar as he and Nathan Jackson accepted a shot of whiskey, and then Chris realized that something--or someone--had caught the ex-buffalo hunter's keen eye. Chris turned to see two old men standing just behind them, and from their dress, he knew they were not folks from the town.

Afterwards, Chris had no idea what possessed him to agree to help the Seminoles.

Nathan had strong enough reasons for wanting to help them. He felt he owed them something for all the kindness they had shown to his own kind: runaway slaves, and those escaping the terrible war between the North and South. Despite the deep blue eyes and brown, wavy hair, Chris could detect the slightest tint in Vin's skin, and features. He knew the man had to have a little Indian in his blood, though it would not be noticeable to most people, but it would explain Vin's agreement to help.

What was _his_ reason though?

For the past three years, he had wandered from town to town with the intention of finding the man who murdered his wife and child. In that time, he had deliberately kept out of other people's business and problems, not wanting to be sidetracked from his self-appointed crusade. He still felt the tight ball of hurt and grief, deep in his chest, as he thought of the family he had lost. He still felt the rage, frustration, and darkness welling up as he thought of the unknown monster that could burn a woman and child alive in their home.

So why had he had stepped in to save Nathan Jackson? And why had he agreed to help these Indians? Certainly, it was not for the money as all they had of any worth would fetch them a paltry thirty-five dollars, and he would have to split that between all the men they hired.

One glance at Vin gave him his answer.

Vin had subdued the inner voice that was telling Chris this was not his problem. The shy smile, the laughter in those blue eyes and the playful words had sent renewed warmth through Chris as he realized he would do anything to stay by this man's side just a little longer. Therefore, he had pocketed the gold talisman and promised to be at the village by the following afternoon.

After the two Seminoles left, they wondered how they could find four more men willing to gamble with their lives for such a small reward.

"I think I know a man who can help." Nathan proclaimed, smiling broadly when Chris mentioned that he might know of another. "Man I know is working on that old mission, just outside town. Know he ain't bothered none about money, but he might be interested in a just cause. I'll take a ride out there and talk to him."

Nathan moved off quickly, leaving Chris alone with Vin in the now crowded saloon. They moved closer as they drew up a plan that would encourage Buck Wilmington to leave the nice warm bed--and warm body--that had laid claim to him since the evening before. As Chris's eyes met Vin's once again, he felt the same jolt deep inside that had accompanied the first time their eyes had met in the street beyond the saloon. He could feel Vin's proximity to him, could feel the warmth of his body even through the several layers of clothing separating them. The very air surrounding them seemed charged, setting his skin tingling, as if awaiting the arrival of one of those dry, lightning storms that came up out of nowhere.

Chris frowned as his body responded.

With sudden clarity, he knew something had changed within him. Some hidden part of him, which had been seemingly dead these past three years, had jolted back into life with that first eye contact. He recognized that feeling, and he felt a little fear and awe at the power of it, knowing it could transform his life--if he allowed it to gain a hold of him.

Chris watched as Vin climbed the stairs leading up to the working girls' rooms. They had already determined which room Buck had stayed in that night so Chris left the saloon and leaned on the post beneath the window. As he waited for Vin to set his part of the plan into motion, Chris's thoughts turned back to the power of love and lust.

Sarah had caused that powerful surge of love within him last time, transfixing him from the moment his eyes met hers across a crowded store. From that moment, he had known she was the one for him; the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life loving, and they had been so happy together, so complete. When she died, it felt as if someone had ripped a part of his soul from his body, leaving an empty chasm inside him--one that could never be filled.

At least, that is what he had truly believed, that such a love could only come once in a lifetime between a man and a woman... and never between two men. He had nothing against finding momentary release with another man. He had even taken advantage of another man's body in the long, lonely stretches between towns, both before finding Sarah and since her death, but it was different between men. Theirs was a union purely of the flesh, and not of the heart and soul--just a meeting of bodies to scratch an itch.

_Weren't all the women before and after Sarah just a means to scratch an itch too?_

The insidious thought slithered through him, reminding him of all the women he had bedded in his life, taking carnal pleasure from their bodies without ever giving a little piece of his heart and soul in return--until he met Sarah. Even with Ella, he had left her as soon as he realized he had confused lust with love, no longer able to stomach her possessiveness over him when he felt little for her in return.

He knew the difference between lust and love now for Sarah had shown him how it should be between two people. Though, if that was truly the case then...

The sound of the bedroom window shoved open above him saved Chris's thoughts from going down that unsettling path. He watched as Buck Wilmington clambered over the sill and dropped to the dusty street, with his pants round his knees and a big grin plastered across his face when he recognized Chris. Before he knew it, Buck had pulled him into a bear hug, much to Chris's embarrassment as he caught several raised eyebrows aimed at them. Perversely, Chris wondered if he would have cared so much if it had been Vin Tanner with his arms wrapped around him.

"Folks will talk," he murmured, knowing Buck would get the message and step back.

Chris got straight to the point, asking Buck if he were interested in earning a mere five dollars for a week's work, knowing it would barely cover the cost of bullets if things got ugly. However, he had known Buck a long time, meeting up with the man soon after he rode out of his hometown to get away from Ella Gaines. In the years before Sarah, they had shared more than most men--whiskey, danger, and even a woman once... but never each other, not even when the pickings were nonexistent. Chris gave a small smile at that thought, knowing Buck's preference would always be for the ladies. In return, they drew to Buck like moths to a flame.

While traveling with Buck, Chris had kept his few liaisons with other men very discreet. Often, he waited for Buck to be preoccupied with the only lady or whore available before accepting any covert offer from a good enough looking man. Only then did he slake his need, accepting the rough caresses and hard fingers, and biting back any whimper of pain if they mounted him--though Chris tended to be the one doing the taking on most occasions.

It occurred to Chris that this secret appraisal, given by one interested man to another, had passed between him and Vin moments before they stepped out onto the street. Even as they walked, side by side to the cemetery, he had felt Vin's mental fingers burrowing beneath his clothing to caress his skin. He had sensed the ghost-touch of lips sealing his fate with desire, and something more besides that Chris was not willing to contemplate right now.

Even if Buck's eyes had not fleetingly flicked over Chris's shoulder, Chris would have sensed someone coming up behind him. The sensation should have set every muscle twitching in readiness and yet Chris knew, instinctively, that it was Vin and he felt no threat. Instead, he barely masked the flicker of desire when Vin brushed up so close that Chris swore he felt Vin's hand on his ass.

"How did you know I was here?" Buck asked cautiously as he eyed a man who was a stranger to him.

"I make a point of knowing who's in town. Live longer that way."

Buck's blue eyes could not conceal the hurt that came with knowing Chris had been aware he was in town and yet had not sought out his company earlier. Those eyes hardened with a tiny bit of jealousy, aimed at Vin and Chris knew what Buck was thinking. He thought that he and Vin had been riding the trail together for some time because they seemed so well at ease with each other, and yet Chris had shunned Buck's company for the past three years. Chris almost laughed aloud, wondering how Buck would react if he told him that he and Vin had met less than an hour earlier.

"There going to be ladies where you're going?"

Chris grinned at the predicable words, knowing he could always get Buck to do anything if Buck thought there might be some female company in the offing. It did not matter that the rogue had just sneaked from another married woman's bed. "I imagine so."

"Then imagine I'm in."

The smile on Buck's face showed he had partially forgiven Chris, and Chris found an answering smile as he watched Buck fasten his pants and pull on the rest of his clothing. Buck draped his arm over Chris's shoulder casually.

"Anyone else planning to join us?" Buck asked, and Vin answered.

"Fella by the name of Nathan... and he reckons he knows someone else just outside of town."

"Maybe we should go find out."

"Lead on," Chris replied and together they walked across to the livery, with Chris flanked by his oldest friend on one side, and a man Chris hoped would become far more than his newest acquaintance on the other.

****

The ride out to the old missionary seemed like a waste of time but Vin had a feeling about this Josiah. He could sense the barely concealed pain within the man, and even though he was not sure exactly what Nathan meant by 'penance', he had a feeling Josiah was punishing himself for some past indiscretion. Some sixth sense told him that this Josiah would be a man worth knowing, that he was a good man, and Vin had learned to trust that instinct.

He had gained the same feeling about Buck Wilmington.

Covertly, Vin glanced towards the other gunfighter, seeing the relaxed set of the man's face as if he was well at ease riding by Chris Larabee's side. Vin knew he was gaining the same appraisal in return as Buck tried to figure out Vin's place in all of this, for Chris had not yet set Buck straight over the newness of his relationship with Vin. However, it did seem to Vin that he and Chris had fallen into an easy camaraderie right from the outset so he could understand Buck's mistake.

Vin thought back to the moment he first met Buck, and how he had slipped up right behind Chris, brushing against the other man so close that his hand had deliberately made contact with the firm curve of Chris's ass. Chris had barely twitched in response, as if Vin sliding up beside him and groping his ass was an everyday occurrence. In hindsight, it had not been the wisest thing to do, 'sneaking up' behind a gunfighter of Chris Larabee's caliber. At worst, the man might have spun round and shot him. However, the thought had never even crossed Vin's mind at the time, as if he was already so attuned to the other man that he felt no fear of his actions being misinterpreted. At least, Vin hoped that his actions had not been mistaken for mere camaraderie. It had been a long time since he last felt the urge to be with another man, but something about Chris Larabee sent ripples of excitement through him, heating his blood to near boiling point.

It was wholly apparent, though, that Buck held no interest in men beyond the platonic, which suited Vin just fine, as he did not want to have to compete with Buck over more than just Chris's friendship.

As they reined to a halt outside the saloon, a gunshot filled the air. Out of curiosity, Vin and the other three men riding with him dismounted and entered the saloon. Vin smiled as soon as he saw the situation, admiring the skill and audacity of the finely dressed gambler. Vin's admiration for Chris went up another notch when Chris easily differentiated between a real bullet and the blanks fired from the small handgun. Despite the tense situation, Vin was not surprised when Chris offered the gambler the chance to join them in protecting the Seminole village. Both of them had recognized the degree of skill and intelligence displayed by the gambler to keep the others at bay with just this tiny gun. Still, a part of Vin felt a stab of jealousy, hoping the offer had nothing to do with the gambler's good looks and graceful movements.

Vin gave a wry grin at his foolishness. In truth, he might have been interested in the gambler had he not met Chris. However, given the choice, Vin knew there was something about Chris that pulled at his senses, mesmerizing him with the sleek power contained within the lean, dark-clad frame. As much as Vin admired the dashing figure of the gambler in his fine clothing, Vin knew his heart was already fixed on Chris Larabee, and some inner part of him knew Chris was just as interested in him.

For a grifter, the gambler was surprisingly honest in his opinion of the low payment for the services requested of him, and yet Vin had an odd feeling that this man would join them at the livery at dawn nevertheless. Chris seemed to believe so too, perhaps recognizing that, for all his flair and appearances, the gambler was low in cash; having a saloon full of men angry with him meant the gambler would not find easy pickings here again so soon.

Vin felt Nathan bristle with displeasure when the gambler asked if Nathan would be riding with them, knowing the soft, southern drawl would remind the dark-skinned man of a past he would sooner forget. Still, Chris did not relent when Nathan questioned his decision to include the gambler, saying they might need someone who was used to lying and cheating.

After the gambler departed, the saloon settled down and Vin joined Chris and the other two men at a table in the back. As they sipped at the whiskey--grimacing as the fiery liquid burned a path from mouth to gut--Vin let his eyes drop to the tabletop, and to the strong fingers curled around the shot glass. If he had his way then those fingers would be curled around something far more personal and intimate before the end of this night.

However, despite the presence of several ladies who were more than willing to show Buck Wilmington a good time, he showed no sign of wanting to take up any of their offers. With a start, Vin realized that Buck might actually resent him for, seemingly, taking his place by Chris's side. Certainly, it did not help that Chris sat directly opposite Vin, with those green eyes trained upon him when they were not contemplating the world at the bottom of that shot glass. Chris drank surprisingly little, and said even less, leaving most of the conversation to the more garrulous Buck. He snorted softly as Buck recounted some tale or other from their joint past, emphasizing the many ladies they had caroused and bedded. Even so, Vin did not feel threatened by Buck's assertion of the long friendship they had known, or of Chris's mostly heterosexual past. It meant nothing, for even *he* had slept with women on occasion, though mostly so as not to arouse suspicion over his true preference for partners of the same sex.

Vin had made that mistake in his youth after the soldiers had forced him to leave the reservation because of his paler skin and blue eyes. With the People, sex between young warriors was tolerated, even encouraged in quiet ways as it strengthened the bonds between warriors, making them a more formidable fighting force. However, Vin soon learned that the white man had far different views, especially the missionaries, who considered such familiarity between males with abhorrence. Vin's mistake was in propositioning a white boy of the same age, not so much in words but in actions.  
He recalled the ripe lips and wheat-gold hair, and the feel of the soft, pale flesh beneath his hands as he leaned in to nuzzle the golden strands. The boy had leaped back in shock, his hazel eyes as wide as saucers as he pushed Vin away.

A blackened eye, swollen jaw, and bruised ribs had been Vin's reward after the boy ran off to tell his older brother, bringing several white youths rushing at Vin. The sheriff had stood aside and watched as Vin took a beating, only interceding when he felt they had punished him enough. Of course, Sheriff Blaine had hated him from the first, calling him a savage, half-breed despite his mostly white features.

Vin had not stayed more than a few weeks following that incident, sneaking off into the night as soon as he had healed, and never looking back, knowing no one cared enough to come after him. Still, he had learned a valuable lesson that day and in time, he came to recognize the signs for those few white men who would be interested in mutual satisfaction with him compared to those who preferred the company of women only.

As the night drew on, Vin knew Buck did not intend to leave Chris's side. When Vin caught Chris's eyes, he had to smile at the soft laughter he found in there, aimed at him, knowing there was nothing malicious about it. Those eyes seemed to taunt him with ideas of what they could be sharing at that moment, teasing him with promises for another time and place. When Chris left briefly to relieve himself in the outhouse behind the saloon, part of Vin wanted to make some excuse to follow him. However, he knew a quick grope and rough, almost meaningless sex close to the foul-smelling outhouse would not satisfy any desire he felt for Chris Larabee. They both deserved better than that.

Nathan was the first to leave, saying he had things to prepare for the coming fight. Knowing he was a healer, Vin did not have to guess what that meant. With dawn only a scant few hours away, Vin accepted that he would not have Chris this night and he took his leave. He knew Chris and Buck would probably head for their beds soon after, if only to gain a few hours sleep before they had to saddle up and head out. As he left the saloon, Vin caught the hazel eye of the youngster who had made to shoot the escaping cowboys at the cemetery. Something about the kid pulled at Vin, a sense of loneliness, and a need to belong that Vin had felt so acutely for much of his life. Even among the People, he had felt set apart by his white blood, though they had been far more accepting of him than the white man had.

The kid looked away when he realized Vin had noticed him, sipping his beer nonchalantly, but Vin had felt the kid's eyes on him and the others all night. From his dress, it was clear that he had just stepped off the stage from back East. Vin knew his and Chris's actions at the cemetery must have fired the boy up with dreams of heroics to go with the overblown tales of the Wild West that often accompanied the settlers on their wagon trains. So many of those kids came West looking for some romantic image but in truth, life was harsh here, with many turning back within the first few years.

Vin carried on out the batwing doors and headed towards Watson's store, hoping today's turn of events had not deprived him of a room to sleep in this night. When he approached the store, he pulled out the key Watson had given to him and tried it in the lock, opening the door and moving inside quietly. He placed the rifle on the floor beside the straw mattress that he used for a bed.

A dim light filtering into the store caught his attention and he waited patiently as Virgil Watson came to the door. The old man sighed and lowered himself to a wooden box, staring at Vin for a long time before speaking.

"Don't reckon you'll be sweeping floors for me no more."

Vin lowered his head, wondering if the old man would ask him to pack up his few belongings and leave right away but he looked up as Watson continued.

"You know. I came out here as a boy, holding onto my ma's apron strings in awe. Saw two of my brothers lowered into their graves from the smallpox, and lost a sister and the baby she was birthing a few years later. Had two fine strapping sons of my own who took it into their heads to fight in the war. Neither came back." Watson paused. "Guess what I'm trying to say is... there's a place here for however long you want it, swept floors or not."

Vin felt taken aback by Watson's kindness even though he had always known the man was not as hard as he made himself out to be.

"Promised to help some people... so I could be gone a week or two."

"Storeroom will still be here... if you need a place to sleep when you get back."

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

"Well... if you're planning to ride out at dawn then you'd best get some rest now."

Vin did not bother to ask how Watson knew when the small band on men planned to leave. Small towns like this had a way of spreading information like a summer wild fire. Vin waited until the old man had left and then he settled back onto the mattress and closed his eyes.

A vision of Chris Larabee filled his mind's eye and his hand crept inside his pants to stroke the growing hardness at his groin. He toyed with the sensitive tip with the pad of a callused thumb, easing the slippery precome over the head and enjoying the wicked sensations that fired up every nerve ending. He imagined it was Chris's strong, nimble fingers closed over his wanting flesh, as his other hand slipped under his clothing to play with a nipple, teasing it to erection. Vin moaned softly, enjoying the exquisite sensations that accompanied his thoughts of Chris Larabee. His lips tingled as if touched by imaginary kisses from Larabee's beautiful mouth while those green eyes danced with pleasure as they fell headlong into his.

Vin let his imagination break free as he pictured the lean, well-muscled body beneath the dark clothing, knowing from the touch of that firm ass that there was little fat on the man. His cock jumped in his hand at the mere thought of Larabee's tight ass, imagining the pale cheeks concealing that gateway to heaven. In his fantasy, his coarse brown hands eased apart those lily-white cheeks to reveal the hidden entrance to Larabee's body. Vin gasped as he imagined thrusting deep inside the hard body, with hands dragging on the lean hips with bruising strength as he rammed in and out.

He came with a muffled cry, spilling his seed over his rapidly moving fingers and gasping out Chris's name.

With a deep sigh of completion, Vin allowed his body to relax back onto the straw pallet, unable to prevent the wide smile of satisfaction from spreading across his face. It was not often that a fantasy had the power to steal his breath away but everything about Chris called to Vin's soul, leaving his body little choice but to follow.

Once his heartbeat had slowed back towards normal, Vin rose from the straw mattress with a groan and removed his soiled clothing. He knew he would not sleep for what little remained of this night for he still felt too wired from the previous day's events, and from the promise held in Larabee's eyes.

Although temporarily sated by his own hand, Vin needed far more. He needed the warmth of another's hand upon him... needed Chris Larabee, but that was unlikely to happen between now and the next night fall. They had several hours riding ahead of them, and then they had to figure out a way for four, maybe five, men to protect a whole village from a bunch of Confederate soldiers who were still looking for a war.

Vin just hoped Buck would find something--or someone--to preoccupy him when they got to the village so Vin could snatch some time alone with Chris.

An hour later, Vin had finished wringing out his clothes and had packed his saddlebag, ready to go saddle up his horse at the livery. As he tightened the cinch, he felt another's presence, and could not help his soft smile as he recognized the scent of leather, whiskey, and cheroots. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Larabee leaning up against the livery wall, eyeing him with predator interest.

"You and Buck get any shuteye?"

"Buck found a warm bed for what was left of the night." Chris looked at Vin askance. "Not mine," he added. "Was hoping you'd stick around."

Vin raised an eyebrow. "Restless night?"

"Nothing I couldn't take a hand to... but I'd have preferred the company."

Vin snorted softly. If there had been even the slightest doubt about Larabee's inclination towards him before then it was gone now, burned away in the heat of need reflecting from the green and gold eyes. No more words passed between them as Chris moved to the next stall to saddle the black gelding that had made friends with Vin's horse overnight. When both horses were ready, they mounted up and rode out of the livery side by side.

They found Buck waiting outside, and Nathan rode up a moment later. Just the four of them, and Vin could not help his sarcasm in response to Chris's remark that they could have done with a few more men. He knew the thirty-five dollars split between just four of them was still barely worth the price of the bullets they would use and the risk to their lives in protecting the village.

Any further thoughts were forgotten at the sudden movement of a rider jumping into their midst. Vin recognized the kid from yesterday and he smiled behind his hand as JD Dunne made his horse perform tricks before a little foolishness saw the kid tumbling from his horse. He laughed aloud as the boy dived into the water trough seconds later to avoid before trampled. Vin lost sight of the kid as Dunne raced off to catch his horse. While Dunne entertained them with his tricks, the gambler arrived, clutching the morning edition of The Clarion. Vin became more intent on the cold anger that crossed Chris's face as the gambler read out the front page of the town's newspaper, though he was more relieved that Mrs. Travis had focused on Larabee rather him. With that bounty on his head, he could not afford the publicity of having his name spread across the territory, knowing it could only bring him trouble.

Still, he thought wryly, there was every chance he would not live to see the end of the week so worrying about a flock of bounty hunters descending upon him seemed a little pointless. Vin watched as Chris rode off towards the newspaper office, silently wondering how the formidable gunfighter would fare against the equally headstrong editor of The Clarion.

Chris returned only a few minutes later, his mouth a tight line of annoyance.

"Didn't hear any gunshots. Get in the last word?" Buck asked in a deadly seriousness tone but Vin could see the blue eyes twinkling in amusement.

Chris did not bother with an answer. "Let's ride," he said, and the five men headed out of town, with Chris refusing to glance in Mrs. Travis's direction as they rode past her.

They rode out to the old mission and Vin was pleased to see Josiah waiting for them with his horse saddled and ready to ride. At the mention of crows, Vin nodded, knowing Josiah must have learned some of the ways of the People for crows were the portents of death, though whose death always remained uncertain so Vin had decided, long ago, to let them be a good omen for him. Unfortunately, it seemed Josiah did not share that view.

As Josiah moved to join them, Vin rode forward, reaching his hand out in greeting. "We can use another good man."

"Not so good... but I can fight."

Vin laughed softly and followed on behind Josiah, pleased to learn that his instincts about the man were right.

****

Chris hated the sense of being watched, even though he knew it was just the kid from the town, still looking to join them. He sighed in exasperation, having lost track of the boy's whereabouts over the past half an hour. He knew they were drawing close to the Seminole village so there was a strong likelihood that one of Tastanagi's people would shoot Dunne if Chris did not bring him in now.

"Buck?"

Buck gave a knowing smile and dropped back, leaving Vin riding directly behind him. Chris glanced over his shoulder just the once, aware that it was not just Dunne that he had sensed watching him throughout this ride, except with Vin, it was pleasurable rather than annoying. He liked knowing the other man was still keenly interested in him, with the enforced wait for physical pleasure only heightening Chris's desire in return.

His thoughts returned to last night.

He had enjoyed Buck's company in the saloon and yet, he had felt a little frustrated towards the end when it became apparent that Buck did not intend to leave him sitting at that table alone with Vin. At first, Chris had wondered if Buck sensed something about the younger man that he didn't like, something that Chris had missed but, as this day wore on, it was easy to see that it was just Buck being overprotective. Part of the reason why Chris had moved on without Buck after Sarah and Adam's deaths, was because he did not want Buck fussing over him. He knew Buck meant no harm but Chris had needed time alone, time to grieve for the family he lost, and Buck had not understood that they each had to grieve in their own way.

He knew Buck had loved Adam, being a surrogate uncle to the child, and he knew Buck had held the utmost respect, and even love, for Sarah. He also knew Buck carried a heavy mantle of guilt, blaming himself for keeping Chris one more night in Mexico. They had been living life to the full, drinking, and having fun while Sarah and Adam were burning alive in their home. The problem was, Chris could barely handle his own guilt and grief, and so he was unable to find the strength to deal with Buck's as well, especially as Buck's guilt emanated in the form of mollycoddling.

Despite making them go their separate ways in the hope that Buck would put the guilt behind him and make a decent life for himself, Chris had not failed to notice how often their paths crossed over these years. For once, Chris was glad to find Buck 'waiting for him' in this dust bowl of a town. After three years, he was ready to start a new life even though he would never be able to put the guilt and grief aside completely. Not knowing who had committed such an atrocity against him--and why--had left him without any form of closure.

Had the killers been Comancheros or renegade Indians? Had they been a gang of outlaws taking advantage of a lone woman and her child? Or had there been a more sinister reason for them picking on his ranch?

The past haunted Chris as he recalled all those he had wronged in some fashion... and those he had gunned down in the street during his wild days before Sarah.

His lips tightened into a firm line. The days following Sarah and Adam's death had been equally grim. He had sought danger on plenty of occasions, only feeling alive during those few seconds when the difference between life and death depended on the speed and accuracy of his draw. He could easily have avoided some of those duels, especially the challenges issued by hothead farm boys looking to impress their friends by putting their farmyard skills up against a seasoned gunfighter. However, once the challenge was accepted, the outcome had been inevitable, for the depth of his grief had left him too numb inside to consider anything other than _shoot to kill_.

Chris saw the smoke rising from ahead and led the way into the village to where Tastanagi stood waiting. He accepted the greeting with the slightest rise of an eyebrow, leaning towards Vin.

"I think he means hospitality," Chris muttered, quietly correcting what he thought was a misspoken word but one look at the hostile faces watching them showed that Vin was right in disagreeing with him. The white man had mistreated these people for so long that many would never be able to trust one but Tastanagi was willing to try and Chris did not intend to betray that trust.

A shout from Buck drew Chris's attention and he was hard pressed no to laugh at the sight of his old friend wearing the kid's bowler hat and leading him into the village, rope tied. JD Dunne was annoyed at Buck's treatment of him, and he yelled angrily, stabbing his finger at Buck in accusation. He tried to justify his action in following them by saying he had been watching their backs. Chris had to admit that he was surprised Buck found him close by, having assumed Dunne had lost their trail but the kid reminded them all that he could ride and had found a short cut around the canyon rim.

Chris took a good look at Dunne, seeing a boy trying to be a man but aware that he would have a far lower chance of reaching full manhood if he stayed in this village. Both he and Vin had noticed the destroyed building, and Tastanagi had not attempted to cover up the cause of its destruction. Chris knew this was no simple rabble of Confederate soldiers, scouring the countryside for a reason not to go home. These men had a cannon and they had the ammunition needed to fire it, which made them far more deadly than Tastanagi indicated back at the saloon.

Dunne rushed over, his eyes bright with youthful determination as he begged Chris to let him stay. For a moment, it threw Chris as he wondered if he had ever been so full of fire; so proud and determined to fight. Chris had met other young hotheads like JD Dunne, both in his youth and during the last few years as he roamed from town to town trying to find his family's killer, but there was something different about this kid. The hard edge of a cold-blooded killer was missing and Buck was the one to say aloud what he was thinking. Dunne was no farm lad or cowboy seeking a life away from the hardship of working the land or cattle. He was one of those idealistic Easterners, full to bursting with romantic images of the West gained from reading dime store novels, but all he would find here was his death.

"Go home, Kid." Chris kept his voice soft as he tried to be as gentle as he could but Dunne stomped off in anger.

"He is young and proud."

Chris looked at the Seminole Chief, knowing he meant to be kind. "You could carve that on his tombstone."

Dunne saddled up and raced out of the village. Chris wondered if Dunne would actually take his advice and go home, or whether he would camp a little way out from the village and wait for a better opportunity to display his gunfighting skills. He sighed and glanced at Vin, gaining some strength from the contact. They had only a few days left to prepare the village and its people for the soldiers' return... even less when Tastanagi confirmed his suspicions about these Ghosts of the Confederacy.

****

Throughout the remainder of the day, they made plans. Later, Vin began teaching some of the villagers how to use a rifle. Tastanagi seemed dubious at first, unsure why they should 'waste their time' in such a fashion when his people had no weapons but he had smiled when Chris told him where they would get guns from. The others went about various tasks, with Ezra encouraging the children to help while Josiah returned to the same task he appeared to be doing at that old mission. He was building high walls, except this time it was to keep out the soldiers rather than the elements.

Chris paused near the center of the village and glanced around, wondering if they could manage to get the place fortified sufficiently to withstand an attack. He could only hope that the soldiers were running low on cannonballs or Josiah's walls would be useless. Movement from above brought his attention back in time to see Nathan Jackson returning. Chris sighed, knowing how busy the healer would be once the battle started, except this time it would be civilians--woman and children--brought to him from the battlefield.

He tried not to show his dismay when he saw the young women following Nathan into the village. He had not noticed they were missing until Buck remarked upon it earlier. After that, he had hoped they would stay hidden, if only to prevent any problems with Buck and his libido. Buck had a way of getting into trouble whenever there was a woman around, and Chris had not wanted the additional headache of trying to keep Buck from being shot by an irate father or potential suitor for whatever pretty girl caught his roving eye.

"I knew you wouldn't let me down, you old dog."

Chris grimaced as Buck slapped him on the back and sighed heavily as Buck approached the young women with a jaunty stride and open arms. However, the village elders were not so welcoming and Chris had a feeling things could turn ugly. He quickly intervened, making assurances to the village elders that no one would harm their women but he could see that Eban was not so ready to trust his word. The man grabbed his daughter and turned away, dragging her towards their small home.

After Eban caught Buck trying to court one of the young women near the horses, Chris decided it might be better to send Buck out on watch. He had been gone barely half an hour before Chris heard a gunshot but, before he and Vin could go investigate, Buck returned with a Seminole brave and JD Dunne in tow.

The look on Tastanagi's face said far more than even the soft cries of the warrior's name, Imala. He ordered Buck to let Imala go and watched as father and son embraced, now truly understanding why he felt such empathy with Tastanagi. They had shared a common grief--the loss of a son--and even though Chris knew he would never hold Adam in his arms again, he could rejoice for Tastanagi.

As Imala spat out his disgust at coming home to find white men in his village, Chris recalled Tastanagi's words concerning JD Dunne, 'he is young and proud'. The same applied to Imala, and Chris sighed as he watched the young warrior walk away with his family. Imala looked back once at Buck, his face holding both resentment and confusion in equal measure but Chris knew it was up to Tastanagi to explain their presence here, not him and not Buck. Instead, Chris had a problem of his own: JD Dunne.

Chris had to admit that the kid had both guts and determination. As he watched Buck berate the younger man, he knew he had little choice but to let JD stay. At least here, he might stand a chance of surviving the coming battle whereas, out there on his own, the kid would probably do something rash and end up taking a bullet. The only bright spot was hearing Vin's laughter as he watched the antics of Buck and JD as they bickered like a pair of old women. It was a good sound, a laugh that was gentle on the ear and Chris felt his own spirits rise just through hearing it but he sobered as JD came up to him once more, asking to remain with them.

Chris stared at the boy for a moment, knowing he had to give JD one last chance to back out, even though he knew the kid would not take it.

"Save it. If you want to die young... stay."

Chris heard the jubilant "YES", and carried on walking away, taking no pleasure in knowing he might be burying the kid before the week was out.

Hell, he thought silently, it could just as easily be the kid burying him.

****

The Seminole bedded down for the night, leaving the white strangers alone with the offer of an empty stable for their own bedding, having decided to trust them.

Chris stared across the fire at the relaxed figure of Vin Tanner. He was still in awe at the ease with which they had worked together. He reflected on the way they could speak a dozen words without a single syllable falling from their lips, with just a slight nod or an easy gesture taking the place of those silent words. In some ways, it was unnerving to have someone know him so well after just a day, reminding him of the curt words he had spoken to Mrs. Travis.

_You read second-hand trash, and you think you know a man... You don't know me._

All Vin had available to read was Chris himself, and he had done that with ease whereas others, like Mrs. Travis, refused to look beyond his reputation, seeing only a cold-hearted killer when they looked at him. Chris could not deny that he had killed but he had never done so out of pure malice, able to justify all the times he had been called upon to draw and shoot.

Around them the other five men, whom they had gathered for this fight, chattered about inconsequential things, such as the rise and fall of ancient empires or the pretty eyes of woman. He tried to keep abreast of the conversations as Buck related tales of his romantic exploits to the wide-eyed youth but he could barely concentrate, barely discern the cynical comments in retort from Nathan Jackson. He attempted to follow the convoluted theories flying between the ex-priest, Josiah, and Ezra Standish, the verbose gambler he had first spotted in the saloon the night he had arrived in the town. However, Chris found their voices slowly drowned out by his desire, until all he could hear was the crackle of the fire and the soft breathing of this man he had connected with today.

Vin raised his eyes, the orange firelight reflecting back, caressing his sun-tanned face, and casting flickering shadows across the strong jaw and straight nose. A tilt of Vin's head sent Chris's pulse racing, the blood draining from his head and flowing directly south to his groin. He nodded imperceptibly as Vin stood, watching him stretch his lean, buckskin-clad frame.

"Gonna take a turn round the village, maybe sit up on that small mesa awhile to keep watch."

Chris heard a chorus of approval from the others and smiled softly before standing up too. "Reckon I'll join you."

"Your company'd be welcome."

They moved off together, side by side, and Chris could feel the electricity crackling between them, both men knowing where this was leading. They walked for some time, finally stopping in the deep shadows near the top of the small mesa.

The stars were glinting in the sky like diamonds strewn across black velvet. The gibbous moon was low on the horizon, casting its light across the plain that stretched out before them, turning the pale sand to red dust, as if foretelling of the blood that would soon be spilled upon it.

Chris let Vin's nimble fingers draw his hat from his head before Vin pushed the duster from his shoulders. His own hands reciprocated, pushing at the thick buckskin coat, dropping the cavalry hat on top of his own flat-brim. They moved together, mouths seeking the warm, moist contact of its partner, tongues sliding together, teasing, and tasting. Hands reached around, drawing them closer, palms running flat down the back of each man's body to cup the firm ass cheeks, pulling them forward until their hips and groins rubbed together with just the flimsy barrier of cloth to dull the exquisite touch.

Moaning softly, Chris pushed away, tongue trailing across his kiss-swollen lips as he gaged the need of the man standing with him, seeing the desire in the moonlit face. His hand rubbed the hardened mass at Vin's groin, his eyes darting down; tongue slipping across his lips as if hungry to taste what was on offer. He made his decision and started to tease apart the buttons of Vin's pants, smiling at the almost audible swallow when Vin realized what Chris was offering.

Vin gently pushed aside Chris's fingers. Chris watched for a moment as Vin worked on his own buttons, held mute by those large eyes alight with both desire and need for him.

They stripped in silence, clothes joining the heap on the ground near their feet until they both stood proud and naked, with the evidence of their passion arching towards firm stomachs.

In the pale moonlight, Chris could see the droplets of precome glistening on the tip of Vin's beautiful shaft. He reached out and smeared those beads over the flared head feeling the shaft jerk beneath his touch, hearing the soft moan of pleasure fall from the swollen lips. He fell to his knees slowly, hands lightly gripping the paler flanks of his soon-to-be lover, his tongue easing out to taste the bittersweet essence. Strong hands grasped his head, trailing through his hair, pulling him closer and he opened his mouth wide to take in all Vin had to offer. He sucked and teased against the sensitive tip, holding Vin's hips tighter to prevent the man from thrusting too hard into him. One hand slipped down to caress the tight sac, feeling it tighten even more as Vin stiffened, hands clenching hard on Chris's head. Too long denied the intimate touch of another, Vin did not last long, and the hot juice filled Chris's mouth, overflowing to run out the corners and dribble onto his chest. Chris swallowed as much as he could, holding the softening shaft inside him until Vin was ready to pull away. He leaned back on his heels and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before trying to lick away any remaining sticky residue. Vin dropped to his knees in front of him, head darting forward to latch onto the spilled droplets on his chin, gradually working down his throat with small licks and bites before gathering up the remaining droplets from his chest.

Chris did not protest as Vin slowly pushed him onto his back, the younger man straddling his body. He waited patiently as Vin reached into the pocket of his buckskin coat, withdrawing a small tin.

The grease-slicked hand that wrapped around his aching flesh felt like heaven and he arched off the ground as Vin stroked across the sensitive head. He watched through narrowed eyes as Vin prepared himself, mesmerized by the lean fingers that thrust deep into the waiting hole. His breath came faster as Vin positioned himself above him, holding his shaft, and guiding it to that relaxed hole as he slowly slid back down.

The incredible tightness and heat wrapped itself around him, and Chris could not help the small gasp of pleasure that echoed in the silent air. When Vin began to rise and fall above him, Chris thought he would die from the pleasure, feeling those inner muscles clenching around him, milking him strong and hard.

Vin seemed to read his need, his body moving faster, muscles tightening and Chris cried out as his senses overloaded, his essence pumping into the body poised above him. Soft lips caressed his sweaty brow as Vin lay down beside him and he gathered the slightly smaller man into his arms, letting the warmth of Vin's body take some of the night chill from his rapidly cooling flesh.

They did not stay that way for long, both aware that it was only a matter of time before someone decided to check on them. With great reluctance, they pulled apart and dressed but, as he turned to walk away, Chris felt Vin's hand on his arm. He turned back, and Vin drew him into a sweet and loving embrace. He kissed the soft lips, his hand carding through the long curly strands of hair falling to Vin's shoulder.

By unspoken agreement, they broke apart again and returned to the village.

****

The next two days passed just like the first but if the Chief was right then they could expect Colonel Anderson and his Ghosts of the Confederacy to return the following day, giving them less time to prepare. Chris pushed everyone hard, aware that everything had to be in place before sunset if they were to have a chance of repelling the attack. When they had done all they could, he told everyone to stop and rest up, knowing they would need all their strength for the battle ahead.

It was late afternoon and the sun was dropping low in the sky when Chris informed the others that he was going to the top of the mesa to keep a watch. The quick glance and tilt of his head told Vin that his company would be more than welcome, with the heat in that glance letting him know Chris's true intent.

No one questioned Vin's decision to accompany Chris, with most just too plain tired to care less where he went and with whom.

When they reached the seclusion of that wide ledge just below the top, Chris turned and pulled Vin into his arms, mouth hungrily seeking its partner. Vin was more than happy to oblige, thrusting his own tongue into the heated mouth in arrogant possession.

They spent no time teasing each other, quickly undressing and laying down on the duster that Chris had spread over the sandy ground. Hands and mouth played over each other's sensitive skin, seeking pleasure points and savoring the reaction. Vin clamped his lips over one nipple, feeling the bud tighten beneath his sharp teeth and inquisitive tongue, his hands steadying the lean figure that thrashed beneath him. He lavished plenty of attention on the hardened peak before his mouth latched onto the other nipple, giving it equal attention, his pulse throbbing as Chris moaned and gasped beneath the onslaught. This time Vin intended to be the one doing the taking. This time he wanted to be enveloped by the incredible heat and tightness of another male body.

He moved slowly down the lean body, tongue, and fingertips exploring every curve of bone and muscle, dipping into the hollow of navel and savoring the soft chuckles as he tickled the sensitive flesh. The overpowering scent of maleness sent spikes of passion blazing through his body, tingling to the tips of his fingers and toes and setting his blood on fire.

The temptation to tease was strong; a mischievous urge to prolong Chris's torment and by-pass the swollen head of the hardened shaft, but he knew time was a factor. One of the others might decide to join them, and this sort of relationship between men was something they had to keep secret.

He heard another small gasp as he descended upon the firm flesh, drawing the large head of the swollen shaft inside the wet warmth of his mouth. He ran his tongue from base to tip, swirling it over the blunt head, dipping into the slight crevice, and rubbing hard over the bundle of sensitive nerve endings. The hands tightening in his hair made him hiss and he moved away, ignoring the cry of disappointment, his hands and mouth soothing his frantic lover with actions and silent words.

When he returned to the aching flesh he felt those fingers scrabbling in his hair once more, but Chris had regained some control. He smiled around the mouthful of hard flesh, hearing the sigh of pleasure fall from those perfect lips, to be carried away on the gentle breeze. When he felt Chris tense, he pulled away, shushing the cry of misery with soft kisses.

"Want us to come together. Want to be inside you when it happens."

He flipped the lid off the small tin and smeared the grease thickly around the small hole, his grease-slicked finger rimming the edge before pushing inside. As the second finger entered the willing flesh, Vin gazed up to find those startling eyes watching him, the green iris almost completely swallowed by the dark center. He could see his own reflection, could read the lust written upon his own face, and he wished he could stay in his lover's eyes forever.

When he judged Chris was ready for him, Vin raised Chris's legs over his shoulder and pressed his own hardened flesh against the entrance to his lover's body. He grasped Chris's shaft, fist stroking along the silken flesh, thumb reaching out to caress the sensitive tip, and then he pushed forward, burying the first inch of his own length within the beautiful, firm body.

Chris groaned in a mixture of pleasure and pain before actively seeking more of this intrusion, hips rising higher, silently begging for more. Vin obliged by thrusting forward, burying the length of him in the heated channel, eyes rolling back as the exquisite tightness sent a frisson dancing through his mind that matched the liquid fire racing through his veins.

They set a slow rhythm of thrusts, rocking against each other in counterpoint, letting the sensations build between them, taking them higher and higher. The tightening of internal muscles, clamping down hard upon him, and the tension in the corded thigh muscles heralded Chris's climax and Vin felt the warm stickiness covering his hand as he fisted the straining flesh. His own senses overloaded, trapped between the pain and ecstasy of the strong body surrounding him, and he thrust rapidly, emptying his essence into the welcoming body.

He dropped onto the heavily perspiring chest, the loud thump of a racing heart beneath his ear bringing a smile of even greater pleasure. His lips found the soft curve of throat and shoulder, mouth sucking, teeth biting until he had raised a sign of his possession on the creamy throat, his tongue lapping the tender flesh afterwards in long, soothing strokes.

Vin felt the pull of lethargy, his limbs languid and heavy in the aftermath of the powerful release, realizing it was more than just the coming battle that had heightened his senses, or even the fear of imminent death, bringing a sharp edge to their passion. It was the feel and taste of this man in his arms that had sent him soaring. Vin wanted to stay locked in the strong embrace forever; safe and secure, but the day was ending. Soon, night would be falling, and the others expected them back in the village to make the final preparations, and to gain those last few hours of precious sleep.

There was movement beneath him, the arms tightening their hold for a moment, making him aware that Chris had felt the same pull to duty, and Vin sighed, knowing this peaceful interlude had ended.

Ten minutes later, he was seated by Chris's side, no longer touching, the distance between them having grown with each item of clothing replaced. As the last of the daylight dwindled and died, he gazed out over the plains to the far away mountains but glanced sideways to find those beautiful green eyes appraising him. The comfort he had found in those welcoming arms and the sense of impending doom made it strangely easy to make the decision to share the details of his recent past. He talked of Tascosa, of the bounty on his head, wanting this one and only friend, this unique person he had come to know and love in such a short time, to take some benefit from his death.

It never crossed Vin's mind that he might live and that Chris might die. Some how that thought was something to shy away from in the belief that if he did not think about it then it would not happen. All his life he had been alone, making his own path through the years. He had met other lonely men, even traveled with them for a time but always with the certainty that he did not need them nor care for them beyond a few sweaty moments of sexual release. Chris was different, had been different from the moment their eyes met. Everything around him had ceased to exist in that instant, leaving just the two of them in a silent world where no other man could hear the words that passed between them.

At his revelation, Chris looked away, the warmth and pleasure in the shy smile filling the empty places in Vin's heart.

As the last rays of the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the darkness descending upon them like a warm blanket, they fell into a deep companionable silence; still seated slightly apart and yet touching on a far deeper level, within their souls.

****

Chris settled into his blanket, ignoring the snuffling and snoring of the five men sharing the small stable, and he thought back to Vin's declaration.

Friend.

Vin had called him his friend, and in doing so, had revealed that these few days had been enough to forge a deep friendship between them. He felt a pleasurable quickening in his heart, a feeling that had been missing these long years as he moved from town to town, seeking vengeance or penance. He knew his thirst for revenge had been driven as much by his guilt in failing to protect his family, of failing to be there when they needed him, as by the grief of losing them.

He sighed deeply, pushing away thoughts of Sarah and Adam, focusing instead on the warm hands and firm lips that had teased him earlier. He recalled the soft drawl that brought light to the dark places in his soul, soothing over him, like a balm to the raw edges left behind when his family was ripped from him. He could still see those sky blue eyes poised above him, locked onto his own as their bodies moved together in a rhythm as old as time. However, there was life, and desire just for him, written in those eyes, rather than the faraway look he had come to expect from the two-bit whores that he had paid to ease the deep ache he felt inside.

Soft movement made him aware of Vin's return and he felt a different kind of ache, a dull burning in his groin, a flip of his stomach and a skip of a heartbeat. He watched, covertly, as Vin spread out his bedroll next to him, lying only inches from his side and yet he may as well have been on the other side of the village.

So near and yet so far.

His fingers ached to reach out and touch him, his ears strained to hear Vin's soft breath above the snoring of the others. He jumped when warm fingers scrabbled beneath his blanket to find his own, his eyes flying open but unable to see much more than a glint of firelight reflected back from Vin's eyes in the darkness. The slight squeeze on his fingers said more than mere words could ever convey, and he closed his own eyes once more, finally allowing sleep to overtake him.

****

That first battle came as a shock. Chris had expected the Colonel to have twenty soldiers at his command but there had to be at least forty, maybe more, but the Seminole had held the element of surprise. By the time the smoke of battle cleared there were many of those Ghosts laid to rest, with the remaining Confederates high tailing out of there but Chris had seen the look on the Colonel's face. He knew that look, had seen it reflected back from the mirror from his own face more times than he could remember. It was the determination of a man hell bent on revenge.

"What'll you think?"

Chris wondered how he could have become so quickly accustomed to Vin, seeming to be aware of Vin with every fiber of his being. He heard the unspoken words, felt the disbelief in Vin's voice vibrate through him, and answered in kind, aware that Buck was not in tune with them.

"Maybe."

"I'll take first watch."

Vin's words confirmed how they both felt, that it was not over yet, and next time there would be no element of surprise in their favor. He knew Anderson would regroup, setting up camp for the night to let his men lick their wounds, and then he would return. All Chris could hope was that they spotted them first and ensured Anderson could not bring that cannon into the fray.

Despite winning this first battle, they had taken losses and the cries of the women rose over loved ones who died. Of the Seven, only Josiah had sustained a bad wound but, mercifully, the bullet had gone straight through his thigh. Even so, he had lost a lot of blood but, as far as Chris was concerned, it was a good omen for Josiah's crows had not taken him yet.

Darkness fell all too swiftly and Chris decided not to spoil the party atmosphere with prophecies of doom but sank down on a bench beside Buck and watched as JD upended a bottle of gut-rot whiskey. It had been a rude awakening for the boy, discovering that the romanticism of those dime store novels was a fallacy, that there was little beauty in facing the wrong end of another man's gun. When JD brushed his well-intentioned words aside in anger, Chris walked away. He'd had a bellyful of fighting already today and he had a hard feeling, deep in his gut, that there would be worse tomorrow.

Chris knew what he wanted. He wanted to feel Vin's strong arms holding him, wanted to be filled by Vin. More importantly, he wanted to let someone else take charge over him for just a while. No. Not just someone else. He wanted Vin, but Vin was still on watch and there would be no opportunity to take what he needed from the other man this night. Instead, he spent a few minutes talking with Buck, reaffirming their friendship as they made their way back to the small stable that had become their home these last few days.

Chris was aware of Nathan rising to take over the watch some time during the night. He could not prevent the small pleasure rising as Vin returned a short while later, bedding down beside him once more, the spread of his blanket concealing the hand that reached out to his own.

Tomorrow they would face the Colonel again, and this time the Colonel would not underestimate the resistance he would find here.

****

Vin had heard the muffled moans from Ezra as Nathan shook the man awake and told him it was his turn to take the watch. The only surprise was that Ezra had offered to take this watch in the first place for most gamblers Vin had ever known abhorred the early mornings, except as a means of lighting their way to bed.

Only a short while later, the sound of a single horse leaving the village caught at Vin's hearing. He burrowed further into his blanket, fractionally tightening his grip on the hand hidden beneath the blankets--Chris's hand.

In some ways, it seemed a little stupid to be holding another man's hand but, despite outward appearances of fearlessness, neither of them was looking to die. Yet both of them knew it was a possibility, and this simple gesture might be the last human comfort they ever knew.

Vin thought back to yesterday evening and the words he had overheard as Chris sat with Tastanagi and his daughter-in-law. All had been marveling at the tiny new life held in the grandfather's arms.

 _Home, family... things worth fighting for_ , Chris had said, and Vin knew from the sadness in his voice that Chris must have experienced such a worthy cause once. Other snatches of conversation from Buck seemed to support the notion that Chris had lost a wife and child to some tragedy but Vin would never ask him direct, knowing Chris would tell him in his own good time.

Vin thought back to his family, to the mother who had loved him but died too soon, and the grandmother who had raised him in her stead until she succumbed to one of the coldest winters the tribe had ever known. Although both the Comanche and Kiowa had welcomed him into their tribes, he had never regained that sense of family, and of belonging, but the memory of it was enough to keep him searching for a place to belong.

The new day dawned brightly, flooding through the cracks in the stable where he slept by Chris's side, and he stretched to ease the kinks in his back before pulling up to a seated position. Outside it was quiet. Only a few in the village stirred, with most too tired from yesterday's battle and the celebration that followed, but Vin knew that someone would have to get up and ride out. They needed to be certain that Colonel Anderson and his men had left the area, or at least find out from which direction the Colonel would attack if that was the man's intention.

Chris stirred beside him, cracking open one sleepy eye before squeezing both shut tight. It made Vin smile and he slapped Chris's shoulder gently before rising to his feet and wandering outside. Within a couple of hours, the whole village was awake, with the smell of chili and beans filling the air.

He, Chris and Buck saddled up ready to check across the plain, and then a man's voice echoed from high above. Vin frowned as a strange wagon rolled close to the top of the ridge.

"What the hell is that?"

Shock and anger lent urgency to Chris's voice. "It's the cannon."

Quickly, they jumped down from their horses, sending them running off with a smack to the rump as the first cannonball whooshed overhead. The next shot came closer still as the Confederates lowered the elevation of the cannon, gradually finding its range. Vin raced after Chris as they went to the aid of a woman and child who had fallen as debris rained down upon them. He pulled the woman to her feet and dragged her along after him, still following behind Chris who had the boy in his arms. Above the sound of people shouting and screaming, Vin could barely make out Chris's soft voice as he ordered everyone away from the adobes, knowing the Colonel was targeting the rough homes, which could never withstand the impact from a cannonball.

Vin lost sight of Chris for a moment in the dust cloud, and then he saw the lean, black-clad figure racing towards Eban, yelling "leave it, leave it," as Eban tried to save the one possession he treasured above all else; his precious piano.

The cannon found its range and Vin could only hold his breath in shock as he saw Chris dive to the ground barely ten feet away from the piano while pieces of wood and other debris flew through the air, battering at the tightly curled figure. Cries of horror rose from Eban's daughter and Vin turned away, knowing it was too late for Eban but that there was still time to help the rest of the villagers to safety.

"Come on!"

Vin reached for one frightened woman who was huddled beside the adobe wall, a small child screaming in her arms. He pulled her to her feet and pushed her ahead of him, his ears attuned to the sound of the gunnery sergeant above as the soldier yelled 'Fire'. Ahead of him, he saw that Chris had turned back to catch hold of Tastanagi. The old man seemed routed to the spot in horror, staring at the mutilated body of his oldest and dearest friend. Vin ducked as he heard the whoosh of the cannonball overhead, using his body to cover the woman and child as wood and stone battered at him, feeling the sting of tiny cuts where the shrapnel found fragile flesh. As soon as it was clear, he pulled the woman back to her feet and sent her running onwards with the others, turning instead to grab hold of a wounded man who could not reach safety unaided.

Chris herded the Seminoles into the relative safety of the bluffs and Vin could hear him shouting 'Down, down' as the cannon fired again. Vin pulled the man's arm over his shoulder and half dragged, half carried the man to where Chris crouched with his gun drawn.

"What the hell happened to Ezra?" Vin yelled angrily, knowing the Confederates could not have sneaked up on the village if Ezra had been standing watch. Part of him wanted to believe the Colonel's men had ambushed the dandy gambler, but he feared the truth was much harsher, that Ezra Standish had run out on them, leaving them open to this attack.

Vin cursed under his breath, trying to force a calmness that he did not feel. He could do nothing about Standish right now. He looked back in concern as another shot struck the adobe close to Josiah, seeing the big man cover the small body of a child with his own and then roll away in pain afterwards. Vin listened as Chris named the only two options available to them, to attack the cannon, which Buck rightly cited as suicide, or surrender. Except, Buck had a third option, to ride away as fast as they could and never look back, but Vin knew that neither he nor Chris would ever consider doing such a thing, not even if it meant their deaths.

Imala had a third option; they could climb.

****

Vin kept his eyes to the front and tried to ignore the harsh breathing that only he could hear as Chris attempted to free himself from the metal cuff of the chains Anderson had ordered placed upon them. While no one was paying them any attention, his own spit had joined Chris's, hoping it would be slippery enough to help ease the cuff over the lean hands. Vin could not avoid a slight grimace as a quick glance revealed the rubbed raw flesh, with blood adding its own lubrication. He knew it had to be hurting Chris, and he recalled how some animals would gnaw off a trapped limb to gain freedom but pushed that particularly gruesome thought aside.

As he waited for the right moment to act, Vin spent the time thinking about the man by his side. He recalled the ill-fated climb up the rope to reach that cannon and put it out of action before it destroyed the village. Instead, they had walked into a trap but, despite the urgency of that climb, fond memories filled his mind. His hands had itched to leave the rope and touch the firm curve of that beautiful ass, remembering exactly how that silken flesh had felt against his skin.

He barely suppressed a grin as the absurdity of it all hit him. Here he was, chained and defenseless, about to be executed in a less than pleasant manner, yet all he could think about was the soft moans of pleasure falling from Chris as he thrust deep into that perfect ass. His only true regret was that they had not been able to do more than hold hands on their last night of life.

The arrival of former Captain Francis Corcoran was an unwelcome distraction from those beautiful memories, and Vin found he was unable to dredge up any pity for the man who would soon share their fate. Instead, he kept the man's attention, not wanting Corcoran to buy his freedom by betraying Chris's attempt to remove the cuffs to the few guards surrounding them.

After that, everything happened so quickly. They had all believed Ezra Standish had deserted them but Standish caused the distraction that gave Chris the opportunity to make one final twist and release his hand from the left cuff. From somewhere, Ezra found another gun and did not hesitate to use it. Once free, Chris overpowered the closest guard, grabbing his gun and quickly dispatching some of the Confederates holding them prisoner while Ezra dealt with some of the others. The rifle that dropped right by Vin's feet was a godsend, and he picked it up and fired, knowing his aim would be true.

Gratefully, Vin held up his hands as Chris unlocked the cuffs, trying not to grimace at the sight of blood slicking those well-remembered fingers. He had already figured out enough to realize Chris would not appreciate any coddling, especially when there was still so much for them to do. Instead, he pulled a strip of cloth from his pocket and offered it to Chris, watching as Chris wrapped it around his damaged left hand. Vin stuck to his new lover's side, following him down into the village and then into the heat of battle, guarding Chris's back as the bullets let fly.

His frustration was as great as Chris's as they missed repeatedly in their attempt to bring Anderson down, with the branches of a tree foiling their shots. Eventually he was rewarded as a bullet from the Mare's Leg tore into Anderson's arm. Moments later, Buck's shot hit the Colonel high in the shoulder and a bullet from Chris's gun slammed into the man's thigh. Vin glanced across at Chris in disbelief, ducking as another bullet ricocheted off the rock close to his head. Those shots barely slowed the man down, and Vin heard Nathan's explanation over the roar of the battle, that the Colonel was dosed up high on Laudanum.

With horror, Vin watched as JD sprang out from cover, fanning his gun as he tried to succeed where the others had failed to take Anderson down. The boy froze as Anderson charged towards him with the wicked saber raised. Suddenly, Buck was there, standing between the boy and Anderson. Vin heard Chris's soft cry of Buck's name as the Buck took the saber slash that was meant for JD but both he and Chris were pinned down, unable to reach Buck and drag him to safety. Josiah rushed out and covered Buck's body, taking a bullet in the side that would have killed Buck outright. Nathan rushed forward too, reaching the wounded pair, but he stood up to face the pain-crazed Colonel as Anderson whipped his horse around to charge again.

Everything spiraled to a halt when Nathan's knife added to the sheer mass of the wounds, bringing Anderson tumbling from his horse. His men were in a quandary, milling about on their horses, uncertain what to do when they saw their former Captain draw and fire upon their leader. Anderson drew his gun and aimed it at Corcoran, calling his former captain a coward, but it was a single shot from Chris, straight through the Colonel's heart, that finally put an end to the battle.

It was all over. The Ghosts quickly dispersed, finding they were free to return to their families now the despotic Colonel was dead. Vin looked around him, at the battlefield that had once been the Seminole's home. He knew they would not dwell on the material damage, which they could repair in time but, as the wailing of the women rose around him, Vin knew there were some things that could never be replaced. He shook his head in sorrow as Chris approach first the injured Buck and then the Chief, with Imala's knife in his hand, seeing the slight stoop in the old man's shoulders as he tried to find comfort in knowing his son had died bravely.

As Chris rejoined him, Vin steeled his own heart, preparing to say his own goodbye to a man who had been a stranger less than a week earlier, but who had captured his heart and soul since then. A nonchalant quality tinged the soft voice that asked where he was headed now the fight was over, as if Chris was trying not to crowd him. He knew Chris was allowing him the opportunity to walk away from the relationship they had forged in battle.

"Tascosa."

"Tascosa?"

Vin smiled at the genuine surprise that raised the soft voice, questioning his decision. It seemed a little crazy to him too, returning to a place that would probably have him swinging by the neck before he could even begin to protest his innocence. However, these last few days with Chris had given him a taste of real life. He had discovered there was far more to life than riding the trails or running from town to town in fear of the noose. He had found the companionship he had been seeking, but he knew there could be no future for him with Chris while that bounty lay on his head.

A future with Chris.

He sighed at his own fanciful dreaming; berating himself for being like one of those lovesick men he had seen mooning around the skirts of a pretty girl. Even if he did free himself of that bounty, there was no guarantee that Chris wanted anything more than those few interludes spent in each other's arms. He answered Chris's question as honestly as he could.

"Never know how much time there'd be to set things right."

The words that followed swept over him like a tsunami, drowning him in the unspoken promise that what they had found together did not have to end here. The guarded green eyes slid around, taking in the people milling about who may have overheard the first part of their exchange. He gazed at Vin, letting his eyes and that smiling mouth draw Vin back into their silent world while other words filled the air to assuage the suspicions of any eavesdroppers.

"Gotta saloon there?"

"I reckon."

They rode off together, flanked by the other men who had joined them in the fight to protect the Seminole, knowing that these last few days had changed each of them in some way. Ahead lay the town where they had come together and as Vin glanced sideways, he was transfixed by the longing in the green eyes, his own softening in response as they stepped back inside their silent world.

THE END


End file.
